


Dane I - The Cherished Child

by sunwisecircles



Series: The Cherished Child [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3311816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunwisecircles/pseuds/sunwisecircles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strictly headcanon. This will be a bunch of short stories about Alistair's children at different stages. The reasoning behind it was the visit to Goldanna's house during Alistair's personal quest. After that debacle there was nothing that my warden fem Cousland wanted more than to give him a family. That will be the subject for another tale.</p><p>A short story of Alistair with children. The Hero of Ferelden is married to Alistair and has gone missing as per DA:Inquisition. Eventually there will be six children - but this one is primarily about the eldest, Dane. Alistair is hastening to Skyhold to be reunited with his wife and to bring her home. He believes Dane has remained in Denerim only to find he has stowed away in the baggage cart. </p><p>This is still WIP. They have obviously not yet arrived at Skyhold but I am struggling with how much to make Morrigan and Kieran part of the story.</p><p>No longer a work in progress. I wrote the last sentence and realised I had finished this story. The next one is begun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dane I - The Cherished Child

* * *

 

 

Alistair sat in the window embrasure in his bed chamber contemplating very little of the panorama spread out before him. The beautiful, rebuilt city of Denerim dreaming under the benevolent gaze of the full, Ferelden moon.

There was a full and feisty life going on under the silver light and none of it reached the King in his tall tower. He saw only his wife’s face. Sorcha laughing, sleeping, tempting him to their bed when he was trying to work; vexatious sprite, stubborn bronto. A sad smile flitted across his face.

He drew in a deep shuddering breath, pressing the gold amulet in his hand to his face. The metal was warm against his lips and the scent of her filled his breath. Her smell; roses, Andraste's Grace, her hair, her skin, her musk.

All of Alistair’s grief, loneliness, fear, anger, anxiety and yearning hissed out of him in a sibilant breath.

“Damn you, Sorcha. Come home.”

A small noise hurriedly hushed caught Alistair’s attention. He peered into the shadows, no longer lounging; no longer alone. A shadow moved out of the shroud of the dark velvet bed curtains and stood watching. Alistair leaned forward and held out his hand.

“Dane? Why are you not in bed?”

The son moved forwards encouraged by the tone of his father’s voice. He wanted to be close to him; seeking reassurance and comfort and (more prosaically) warmth, for the night was chill and he had been standing watching for some minutes.

“I’m sorry Papa. I couldn’t sleep. But you’re awake too.”

Dane half climbed and was half pulled onto his father’s lap. He burrowed under Alistair’s fur robes; ear pressed to his stomach, listening to the gurgles, smelling soap and linen, feeling the regular rise and fall of breath. Alistair held the small boy, and waited. He laid his cheek on Dane’s soft blonde hair, dropping a light kiss on his head. Ah, how much it helped to have his children close. He brushed the boy’s hair away from his forehead, tilting his face upwards. Dane’s looks might be almost a mirror image of his own but he walked and talked his mother.

“You are eight years old. I am 31 years old. I’m allowed to be awake. Now, why can’t you sleep?”

A question for a question. “Do we really have to have Nell with us tomorrow? She’ll be riding Puff and we’ll all have to go slowly so she can keep up. We won’t get to have a proper gallop.”

“You, Maric and I will still be able to have races. We’ve been over this. Nellybear can’t help it if she’s small.”

“And a girl.”

Alistair, surprised at how tired he was of this old grievance, gave Dane the opening for which he seemed to be casting.

“Stubborn, like your mother.”

Dane squirmed, pushing his face more firmly against Alistair’s chest. “Will mama ever come home?” The voice was plaintive.

Alistair swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, feeling the need for words that comforted without deceit.

“Oh Dane.” Alistair’s arms tightened instinctively. “She’ll come home. When? I don’t know. Maybe your mother doesn’t know herself. I can say however, that everything which is dearest to your mama is right here. You, Maric, Nell and myself. Nothing is so precious to her as her family.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

“But why did she go in the first place?”

“Same answer. Because nothing is so precious to her than us. She did something that was as hard for her as it was for us. Going away hurt her because she would miss us and because she knew we would miss her. But she knew it had to be done to make things better for us.”

“I do miss her. I want her to come home.”

Alistair felt tears seeping into his shirt, Dane’s fingers playing with the amulet. “You miss her too Papa.” He sniffled. “Don’t you?”

A whispered answer, “I do indeed.”

Dane propped his elbows on his father’s chest; put the amulet to his face as he had seen Alistair do. He looked into his father’s face. “I can smell mama.”

“What does your mama smell like?”

The first response was immediate, a small smile in his voice. “Roses. And . . . her clothes, and. . . Mo.”

Alistair wished the mabari was with Sorcha now, he would feel a lot easier about her silence. His wife’s grief at Mo’s death was matched almost by Dane’s.

The boy let the amulet spin in the moonlight. “What does it say?”

“You know what it says.”

“Tell me again.”

“Always and Only. I would say to her ‘I love you, always’ and she would say to me ‘I love you, only you’. So, the amulet is inscribed with the words always and only. Inside it are rose petals, andraste's grace petals, some of my hair and some of your mother’s hair braided together. She had it made as a keepsake for me when we were first in love. A young man named Sandal enchanted it so it always smells of her. The scent is different for different people and different times. The metal is always warm. You could bury it in snow and it would still come out warm. _That_ is why I know she’ll come home.”

“Can I stay here with you tonight? Please papa?”

Alistair suddenly wanted that as much as Dane. “Of course. Maybe then I can sleep as well.”

Dane’s arms twined around his father's neck as Alistair rose with him in his arms. A wet kiss was planted on his cheek.

“I love you Papa.”

Alistair smiled. The words were now strung with sleep. He settled Dane into bed and sat his side, stroking his hair, listening to the murmurings and mumblings as sleep crept up and over his precious child. The heaviness laid on his heart lifted a little and he was also, finally, able to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

The blessed slumber was broken by an unexpected disturbance. Alistair jarred awake as a door slammed, followed by voices raised in anger. Dane stirred, almost wakened. His eyelids fluttered and he mumbled something about his pony, Griffon. He rolled over, away from the noise and fell back into dreams. Alistair scrounged on the floor for his boots and grabbed his furred robe from the foot of the bed. By the time he stalked down the hall towards the antechamber door his sense of the ridiculous was overcoming his affront at being awakened by such a fracas.

He yanked open the door and silence fell. The sight of their king; hair tousled, face still full of sleep, his crumpled undershirt and breeches, bed robe off one shoulder and boots flapping around bare ankles; turned angry men into chastened men. Alistair’s eyebrow rose in mute enquiry. Ser Huegin, the King’s personal steward, stepped forward and gave Alistair an apologetic bow. The others belatedly followed suit.

“Yes all right. Just tell me what in the Maker’s name is going on out here.” The King and royal obeisance did not exist harmoniously together.

“Forgive me, my Lord. I was about to ask the same thing.”

The gaze Huegin turned on the disputing men promised future and more severe censure. Two sheepish palace guards, a stupefied soldier and one truculent courier mumbled apologies. The courier was the first to make his case to the King.

“I must add my own apologies Your Majesty, but I’ve a message that could not wait. It _is_ marked urgent and it _is_ already nearly two days late.” The man’s dark eyes held Alistair’s own. “It is from Sister Nightingale.”

He held out the parchment. Stupor vanished as Alistair straightened. He held out his hand for the message. It did indeed have Leliana’s personal seal. Not of the inquisition then. Ser Huegin was indignant on behalf on his preoccupied Lord.

“Why so late? What were you thinking not to bring it to His Majesty at once?”

The courier inclined his head. “I wasn’t where I could easily be found. I had gone to follow up on some information that came my way. When the message was handed to me, I dropped everything and set out at once. I had to come on foot and, at times, to find my path off the main road.”

Alistair turned his back on them, flipping open the creased parchment. The two hurried, terse sentences; _She is at Skyhold. Come_ ; were barely acknowledged when his eye was caught by two words written underneath in a sickly, faltering hand. _Always. Only._

“Ser Huegin.” The quiet voice cut across the continued interrogation.

“Yes Your Grace?”

“Send Toby for Arl Teagan. He is still here in Denerim, yes?”

“Yes. He was due to return to Redcliffe sometime today.”

“Get Toby to him first. I want him here. Also have Toby notify Lord Eamon of my intention to leave today for Skyhold.”

“Majesty?”

“My wife is there Hue. I would be there with her.”

“As you say My Lord. Shall I send word that you are on your way?”

“Yes. But by raven.” he indicated the courier. "Make sure this man gets what he needs. Bed, breakfast, bath, payment." Alistair withdrew a short distance and turned back. “Also alert Dame Millicent and Brother Gelert that they are likely to have trouble with the children. Tell Physician Lovejoy he’ll be going with us. Have Sergeant Obrun arrange troopers, only as many as are warranted for safety’s sake. We’ll move fast as we can and sleep rough. Have Anmod put on a leading rein.” Alistair hesitated. “Send a litter on after us, just in case.”

Alistair looked into his steward’s eyes, searching, as Dane had done earlier, for some reassurance from the older man. The dark grey eyes looking back were kind and steady. A firm hand grip on his shoulder that he could never, in actuality, receive. Some days he really just wanted to be Alistair.

“I need to speak to my children.” He turned and headed back to his bedchamber, boots flapping at his bare ankles.

* * *

 

 

Alistair made a detour to the nursery to check his other children. Maric, asleep on his stomach, took advantage of having the bed to himself, and sprawled across it like a starfish. Alistair pulled the covers gently back over him, shaking his head at the little boy’s propensity for kicking them off even in cold weather. He then crossed the room to the little bed containing his only daughter, Eleanor. Nell, Nelly, Nellybear; the sight of her always brought a smile to his lips. While the boys were definitively Theirin, his baby bear was mostly Cousland, taking after her Uncle Fergus.

He reached down and pulled a soggy thumb from her mouth. Little precious girl had a tight grip on daddy’s heart. Who knew, he mused, that love could be so heart breaking? While Dane was his mother, Nell was more like her father. Placid and happy, she had her share of stubbornness and temper. Still, she was always ready to smile, to be cuddled or to follow. Maric, though, was the enigma. Of this son, Alistair was discreetly protective. He was quiet, reserved, and almost scholarly (if that were a word to describe a six year old boy). He always clamoured for stories but differed from Dane in that he wanted to hear about people rather than dragons, archdemons and griffons. He loved stories about his parent’s exploits and had even named his pony, Sten.

* * *

 

 

The forecourt of the palace was crowded with palace staff, curious on-lookers, children and dogs getting underfoot and the King’s party ready to go. Alistair cast a bleak eye over the whole scene and turned back up the stairs, his heart aching for his children. Maric was standing stiffly upright with Nanny Milly (Dame Millicent) but apart from her. His face was miserable but he was trying to be brave for his papa and for His Father the King. Alistair gave him a wink and a grin. Maric’s face brightened and he gave an answering smile.

He was not able to gain Nell’s eye though as she had her face buried in Grandpapa Eamon’s neck. The honorific was bestowed by Dane and adopted by all the children. Alistair hoped Eamon could bear up. The civil war, the blight, the events at Redcliffe had all taken their toll on the man and he had been carrying a disconsolate Nell for the better part of an hour. Nelly was more like a mabari than a fairy princess. No lightweight she, the princess of Ferelden was sturdy and solid. The fingers may be small but how many men had she gotten wrapped around them?

Alistair closed the distance between them and tugged on one of his daughter’s pigtails. In less than a second she was clinging to him with the tenacity of a prickleweed. “Sweetie, sweetie. You should be happy that Daddy’s going because when I come back I’ll have your mama with me.”

Maric’s voice piped up from somewhere in the vicinity of Alistair’s knees. “I’ll look after you Nellybee. And so will Dane. Papa won’t be gone for too long. You won’t miss him that much.”

Alistair’s eyebrow rose and Maric grinned. He plopped Nell beside her brother before she could protest. She blinked in surprise but allowed Maric to slip a protective arm around her shoulders.

Eamon’s voice was angled toward Alistair’s ear. “You’d best go now Alistair. It’s just harder for them.”

“And Dane?”

“Will be found. It’s the wounded pride of an 8 year old boy. One who is also the son of the King. But he will come out when he’s cold and hungry. Neither of which will harm him.”

“Ah Eamon, but to just go. . .?”

“He knows Alistair. He knows you’re leaving and why. Dame Millicent and I will both talk to him; help him to see it as it is.”

Alistair suddenly stooped and dropped a kiss on Maric’s sun bright hair and covered Nell’s face with more kisses until she started to giggle and then he was gone. Down the stairs, swinging up into the saddle and riding out of the palace gates.

* * *

 

Once he cleared the city gates and foot traffic had thinned out on the road Alistair allowed Equinor to open up into a fast canter and again into a full gallop. The strength of the horse was the joy of his rider. The crashing tattoo of hooves on the hard-packed road; the rush of wind blowing back his hair, there was no more Alistair and Equinor, there was rush. They were a wild headlong flight down a river of air into nowhere.

After a time that swirled in on itself, horse and rider once again became two discrete creatures. Alistair slowly pulled Equinor up and turned to locate his party. Teagan had kept the guards at a discreet distance, allowing the King time to clear his emotional cobwebs. He was lighter and freer, and was moving towards his wife. Teagan pulled up alongside him.

“So, how do you think the children are faring?”

Alistair grinned. “I’m more concerned as to how your brother is faring. Especially if he has Nellybear following him everywhere. He pitched his voice in a fair imitation of his daughter. “Carry me Grandpapa Eamon. Carry me!”

Teagan laughed. “And he’ll do exactly that. She has him right where she wants him.”

“And me, you, and the entire blessed household.”

“You exaggerate Alistair. It’s surely only those who have ever met her.”

“As for Dane how long he remains in a huff is up to him. I just hope he has enough sense to go in once it starts to get too cold. Between Dane and Nell I don’t know what I’d do without Maric. He knows well enough how to amuse himself.”

“Forgive me your Majesty but my memory may not be what it once was . . .”

“Oh Maker, here we go. . .”

“If I recall correctly, weren’t you the one who locked himself in cages in the dungeon? Er, for fun?”

“Yes, yes. I am the King you know. I think people tend to forget that.”

Teagan chuckled. “You are their beloved King, Alistair. Not their feared King.”

“Not even just a little?” Alistair held his thumb and finger up, an inch a part.

Teagan pretended to ponder the question. “Very well your Majesty. I will concede you that much.”

“How very gracious.” Alistair muttered. He turned in his saddle. “Where is that baggage cart? I need a drink.”

He pulled his horse around and made his way to the water bucket hanging over the side of the cart. He filled the leather flask on his saddle and drank off a few mouthfuls from the tin cup hanging from the bucket. The camp master, Johnson, doled out bread and cheese for the whole party and they were once again on their way, eating in the saddle. Alistair kept them moving, stopping only to water the horses and to allow the party to see to personal necessities. 

* * *

 

 

He started to think about a suitable place to camp when a piercing whistle came from behind. They turned back to the stationary cart. Master Johnson stepped down from the driver's seat and started to undo the lacing holding the oiled linen coverings over the top of the cart. Physician Lovejoy met Alistair's questioning look and flicked his head over his shoulder indicating the back of the cart.

Alistair closed his eyes and shook his head. "Oh Maker, please don't let it be." He then spoke in a voice which carried. "If there is someone in the baggage cart who should _not_ be in the baggage cart and doesn't come out now. . ."

There was much movement and scuffling under the cover and a dishevelled, red-faced, defiant son faced his father. Alistair's comment was terse and unexpected.

"Bushes over there. Now."

Dane jumped down from the cart and made off into the bushes as fast as he dared. The last thing he wanted was for the men to laugh at him. His father spared him that, for when he came back from relieving himself the men were busy with setting up camp. He spotted Alistair standing apart from the bustle, arms folded, watching him. Although Dane's earlier defiance wavered, he would not hang his head. His parents had taught him about responsibility and consequence; that bad decisions could be made on purpose or accidentally, yet they still required someone to own up to them.

Alistair swung him up onto a broken branch so they were, somewhat, eye to eye. Dane followed his movements as Alistair paced back and forth.

"Do you know what you've done Dane?"

"I'm sorry, Papa. I disobeyed you I know . . . "

"But? I'm sure there's one of those coming. Do you understand . . .do you know even a little about what that disobedience means? People we care about and who care about you are frantic with worry because you cannot be found within the walls of your own home. You, a prince of Ferelden, are missing. Guards and city watch will be pulled off regular duties to look for you. Troopers will be riding this way to give us the news. Not only that though, my lad. You were told why you wouldn't be coming. Do you remember what I told you?"

Alistair's voice was low, controlled and tight with anger. Dane had never heard anything like it before. Usually, his father's temper was a sudden storm that blew up and then away with equal quickness. The bright brown eyes brimmed but still he held his father's eye.

"You said that the road was dangerous because of the mages and templars. You said that if there was trouble, knowing we were safe would make you safer because you would be able to concentrate on the fight." The tears splashed over.

Alistair took Dane's face in both hands. Wiped his tears away with his thumbs. "Do you know how much I love you Dane? I planted the seed in your mother that made you and you grew safe  inside her belly. When she gave birth to you, I was there. You were red and slippery and bawling your lungs out and you were the most beautiful thing in the world. You were perfect. Your mother and I made a perfect baby boy." A smile flitted over Alistair's face. "Listening to you squawk we both knew there would never be a moment free of you. The joy, the anxiety, the fun, the frustration, the pride and the love for you would be with us forever."

He kissed Dane on the forehead, and then kissed him again harder, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"I didn't mean to make a speech."

"You hate speeches."

"It wasn't too much was it?"

"No. It was fine."

"Right. Come and get something to eat." Alistair pushed Dane backwards off the branch, before catching his legs and lowering him onto his head.

"Papa!'

"Well, I can't help it if you're a clumsy bum"

Dane made a dive for his father who dodged him easily and ran for the camp. Dane was hot on his heels. The chase led around the camp and through the camp, getting under everyone's feet. Alistair was laughing as much as Dane. The game finally came to a halt next to Teagan with Alistair falling on his back and Dane plopping himself on his father's stomach.

Alistair eyed his panting son. "You know there will be a punishment for you when we get back to Denerim?"

"I know."

There was a short silence. "Papa?"

"Mmmhmm?"

"What did you mean when you said you planted me in Mama?"

Alistair shot to his feet, dumping his son onto the ground while the Arl of Redcliffe choked on his wine.

"I'm going over there. There's something, someone that needs my attention way, way, over there." Alistair bolted.

"Coward." spluttered Teagan.

Dane was grinning more at Teagan spitting wine everywhere, than his father's discomfiture. "It's all right Uncle Teagan. I know. The kennel master told me."

Teagan choked again.

* * *

 

The company had been on the move for several days now with Dane perched happily, albeit precariously, on Anmod, his mother's horse. He had his uncle and his father each to a side and thought they made a fine sight. Teagan on his polished dark bay, Dane on his mother's glossy red chestnut and his father on proud Equinor the dappled grey. The autumn days proved bright and sunny seeking perhaps to deny the oncoming winter. The only black spot on this idyll of Dane's was when the knights from Denerim caught up with the King's party midway through the second day.

Their leathers were distinctive; grey with a red right arm; Royal Knights of the Order of the Rose, the Queen's handpicked, household guards. They were led by Ser Antonio Bega, one of Dane's favourites, and a man who scared him more than the thought of an archdemon. The hair that fell over Bega's shoulder was black, his eyes were black and his skin was dark. He had a scar that ran right across his face just under his eyes.

Once Dane had screwed up his courage to ask Ser Antonio about the scar. Bega told him that someone had tried to slit his throat and missed. Better alive and scarred than dead, no? Scar or not, Dane had seen how many women watched Antonio Bega under their lashes every time he walked by. His mama told him that she thought Bega had once been a pirate and had been caught in Denerim by the blight.

His papa had made funny noises and muttered under his breath. The only words Dane had caught were _thief_ and _prison cell_.

"What were you saying Alistair?"

"Nothing dear."

Dane caught the wink his mother sent him and started giggling; which caused his father to threaten to throw him off the battlements and into the river and then chase him all over the family apartments in order to do so.

As Bega and his men had closed on the party Dane cast a nervous glance at Alistair as he urged his grey towards the new group. Dane made to follow but Teagan laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Let him handle this, Dane. He is your father and also your King and you are under his protection.”

Dane’s face was crinkled with puzzlement. “But I . . . it was me that. . .”

“It’s all right lad. Your father promised punishment for a misdeed once you return to Denerim. That’s all there is to be said. These men have no authority to question the King or to judge his son.”

Dane stared in wonder at his uncle. Something caught his eye and he turned further in the saddle. There was an archer balanced on a fallen trunk aiming an arrow into their midst.

“PAPA!”

Everything erupted into pandemonium. Horses skittered as men yelled and began to move. The archer mistimed his shot which fell short, giving the troops and knights time to move against more bandits emerging from the shadows of trees. Teagan grabbed Anmod’s bridle and led the jigging horse into the centre of the road by the baggage cart. “If worse comes to worse, you let the horse have his head and hang on.” Dane nodded.

Master Johnson was kneeling for better balance in the back of the cart raining down arrows on the bandits. Physician Lovejoy was raining down lightning bolts from his staff. Teagan had gone to join the fray. It was in the sharpest, deadliest moments of the fight that Dane spied something that riveted all his fear down to a single point. His father locked in combat with a man, a huge man, swinging a huge two-handed axe with lethal precision.

It was Alistair, however, who was in control of the fight. Ducking away from each swing and bashing his opponent with his shield then causing him to jig the other way to stay out of the way of his sword. Suddenly Alistair gave an almighty heave and knocked the other man off balance. His sword swung up in a silvery arc and plunged into the man’s chest, sending a spray of blood gushing everywhere and a lot of it over himself.

The fight floundered to a standstill. One or two bandits made it away back through the trees, while three more sat in the grass surrounded by disgruntled troopers with swords naked and raised. Several unluckier bandits sprawled lifeless. Alistair moved back to the road, favouring his right leg. He glared balefully at the prisoners.

“Harris, Butlinn, march this lot to my brother-in-law, Cousland. See if he has room for them in his cells. They can await us there. The two of you can then return to Denerim and report to Lord Eamon.”

 Alistair made his way to his son. The poor lad was like chalk. Maybe even a little green? As Alistair drew near the boy turned in the saddle and vomited over the side. The sound, the movement, the smell; some of it or all of it caused Anmod to take fright, pulling sharply on the bit, jumping  and twisting sideways. Dane taken by surprise, lost his balance and felt himself sliding. Strong arms caught him as he toppled and dragged him out of the saddle and away from the excited horse. A trooper had taken Anmod's reins and was leading him in circles, calming the animal. The strong arms plonked Dane onto the cart. Hands passed the King a wineskin. Alistair took a long swig, wincing at the throbbing in his knee. He took another mouthful and passed the skin to Dane.

"It'll help with the queasy feeling."

Dane drank carefully, he'd had experience with quaffing wine too quickly and had no intention of disgracing himself twice in one day.

"Papa? That man, he . . .he."

"No Dane. He chose poorly. He lost."

"But you. . ." Dane hung his head ashamed to say anything more.

Alistair tilted the grimy face to his.

"Killed him. Yes I did. I would rather you had not seen it, but such is life on the road. You kill if you have to, in order to save your own life or that of others under threat. It's not something to take lightly."

"Papa, Papa, don't ever let them hurt you."

Alistair smiled. "I won't." His smile soon vanished as Lovejoy bustled over and started fussing over the royal knee like a mother hen.

* * *

 It wasn't many days before the terrain began to change; rolling grassy plains became rocky hillsides, deciduous trees in autumn glory became austere dark evergreens. Then they started to find snow.

Through the long pushes of the days, Dane was entertained by stories of the blight and civil war by his father and about his father by Teagan. Dane made sure to keep some of Alistair's pranks to try out back in Denerim. Master Johnson even unbent a little to spin tales for the boy about his memories of the Rebellion as a lad. Both Alistair and Teagan took him on fast canters down straight stretches of road, gaining him experience and confidence on a much bigger horse than he was used to riding.

The highlight came when his father allowed him to accompany Ser Antonio and some troopers on a short hunting side trip for some fresh meat.

Then came the moment when they rounded a high ridge of grey rock and snow and gazed on the battlements of Skyhold. Its high-buttressed walls seemed to grow out of the mountain itself. Sentries on the battlements proclaimed themselves by the glint of the sun on their weapons and helms. Banners and pennants displayed the sigil of the Inquisition and the colours of Ferelden.

Man and child, both, however, were focused on the gatehouse; on the figure emerging from within. Sorcha moved out from the shadow, picking up her skirts and speed. As the sun hit the copper head and flared out like flames, Alistair moved. He dug his heels into the dappled grey sending the horse into a canter. As he neared his wife he leaned out of the saddle. Sorcha moved to one side and lifted her arms. When he was came abreast of her, he snatched her off her feet with one arm and landed her before him on the saddle. Onlookers began to applaud the dashing move.

Teagan was clapping and laughing. “Oh well done Alistair.” He breathed.

Next to him Dane fidgeted. Teagan gave him a long, searching look. “Go on lad. They’ll have plenty of time to kiss.”

Dane grinned. “They’re always kissing.” He urged Anmod forward.

 _Yes_ , thought Teagan. _They were always kissing._ Much to the delight and amusement of palace staff. It had passed into folklore – when the King and Queen of Ferelden no longer kissed, then the fade would open up and encompass the world. Fereldans could be a superstitious lot. There was a flapping of wings and a raven took to flight behind the Arl.

“What was that for?” he asked Bega.

“A message to Lord Eamon, your Grace.”

“Saying what?”

“They kissed.”

They kissed and the world was restored to order.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
